


Little Bird.

by Alexander_Slamilton



Category: 19th Century CE France RPF, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, That's it, basically courf is very sick, lots of fluff too, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9509570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Slamilton/pseuds/Alexander_Slamilton
Summary: Courfeyrac gets sick, Enjolras is scared, and Combeferre loses it."  “You looked at Enjolras and told him his best friend was probably going to die. Yes, you’ve been awful,” Grantaire said, raising an eyebrow.“I just don’t know what to do. Everything we’ve gotten ourselves into, I’ve been able to fix, everything. Now, though, now I’ve got nothing. I’ve no idea how to fix this, I don’t even know if I can fix it at all.” Combeferre said, punching one of the pillows before wiping over his eyes viciously. "





	

Courfeyrac was not having a good day, first he’d left his hat at home and the winter wind had howled and moaned about him; then it had started to rain on his way home, great fat droplets falling from the sky, soaking him to the bone with freezing water. His coat, wool and red, he’d stolen it from Enjolras that morning, was already completely useless; this only left his shirt and waistcoat to protect him from the heavy rain and they were less than useless. He shivered and clutched his books closer to his chest, as he plodded on down the street, his shoes splashing on the cobbles, the pavement was really more like a river now and the water was actually deeper than the height of his shoes. He grumbled softly to himself when he realised he still had another fifteen minutes to walk before he would be home. His hair was just another problem to add to the list, it dripped sullenly; it stuck to his scalp, with none of its usual curl. He shivered and drew further into himself willing his body to warm up. 

 

The sky was a broiling mass of dark grey clouds; it was as though night had already fallen in Paris and all Courf wanted to do was to be home by his fire with Marius prattling on about whatever he had done that day. The rain fell heavier still, he was by the Seine and the river’s surface looked like shattered glass, all broken up by the fat droplets. His shoes were soaked now, and the cold had reached his feet. There was going to be hell to pay for his folly in forgetting his hat, he could feel it creeping up on him in the cold that was fingering it’s way down his back. He hadn't even thought to bring a scarf, truly, when he’d left the apartment that morning there had hardly been a cloud in the sky and yet now he was in the middle of a storm. The trees were shaking down to their roots as the wind threatened to rip them from their places; their branches shook together and their leaves were torn off. Courfeyrac was too busy looking at the trees to notice the uneven pavement, he only noticed it when he was on the floor, soaked and now bleeding as well. He really was not having a good day. 

 

“Gabriel? Is that you?” Joly said, running up to him, a heavy bag thumping at his waist.

 

“Hi, Jolllly,” Courfeyrac huffed, and looked up at the medical student.

 

“You alright down there?” Joly smiled and offered him a hand, “what happened?”

 

“Thanks Joly,” Courf allowed himself to be hauled ungraciously to his feet, “I tripped is all, just the pavement sticking up.”

 

“Oh well, it could be because your humours are-“

 

“If you say that my humours are out of balance and you need to leech me, Joly, I swear I’ll sit right back down and let you go about your day.”

 

“For once in your life, Gabriel de Courfeyrac, I wish you’d listen to me,” Joly shook his head, “alas, if there is nothing that will convince you I’ll let the subject slide and merely suggest a bandage for your face.”

 

“A bandage for my- I’m not _bleeding_ am I?” He said, touching the side of his face.

 

“Ah, tis but a small cut,” Joly smiled quickly, “Théodore will be able to patch it up, if you go are headed around that way?”

 

“Uh, no, no I wasn’t. I was planning on going to my apartment,” Courf said, scratching the back of his neck and shifting. “Should I?”

 

“I could fix it for you if you like, if Bossuet’s home, I’ll ask him to get Théo,” Joly smiled and gestured to his apartment, only a block out of the way, “we could hang your coat by the fire and dry it out for you.”

 

“That is the best suggestion you’ve ever had, Jolllly, my friend,” Courf could feel his mood improving even as he walked closer to the dry warmth of Joly’s apartment. 

Joly’s apartment was on the third floor of one of the bigger apartment blocks around the Sorbonne; he lived with Musichetta, who quite frankly terrified Courf, and Bossuet, who though he was taller and broader than Courf, would never scare him. There was a wide hallway that lead in to the main room, with a few doors leading off it, though they were all closed. The ceiling were high than Courfeyrac had expected them to be, and he craned his neck to look at the small decorations on them. As the warmth returned to his body, he could feel the pain start to sneak up upon him, first his palms started to sting from where he’d hit the pavement; then his face started to burn. He wasn’t sure but he could feel something dripping in to his cravat; he hoped it was just water, he chose not to look down to check. 

 

“Joly, what the hell is wrong with my face?” He said, turning to Joly, who was bustling around trying looking for something. 

 

“A small cut, is all. Nothing major, look in the mirror in the bathroom if you feel the need,” Joly poked his head around the door. 

 

“De Courfeyrac!” Bossuet boomed coming out of a door, “oh dear, what happened to your face?” 

 

“I am going to be terribly scarred, Légle?” Courfeyrac sighed, though he was starting to feel slightly nauseous. 

 

“Bossuet, can you run and get Théo?” Joly called, “Gabriel, could you come and sit down over here, please, by the lamp.”

 

“Aye, love,” Bossuet said, pecking Joly on the head as he grabbed a coat (and a hat) and ducked out of the door. 

 

“Why are you getting Ferre, I thought it wasn’t serious,” Courf asked, eyes wide, “I wont need stitches will I?”

 

“That’s what I need Théo’s opinion on, he’s better at them than I am anyway. I don’t think you will need stitches but, it’s better to be safer rather than sorry,” Joly smiled, as Courf sat on the chair, he held a lamp up to his face, “I wish it weren't so dark today.” He mumbled as he held some tweezers in the flame.

 

“If those go anywhere near my face, Joly-“

 

“There’s bits of pavement currently stuck in your face,” Joly looked at him, one eyebrow raised, “if you wish to leave them in there then be my guest.” 

 

“If you scar me-“

 

“Gabriel.” Joly looked at him again but with a sterner look, the tweezers still in the flame, “you need to let me get the dirt out of the cut.” 

 

“Fine,” Courfeyrac muttered, rolling his eyes and steeling himself against the table top, gripping the edge of it till his palms sting again. 

 

He saw the tweezers coming closer, he resisted the urge to twitch out of the way. He could feel the heat emanating off them and had to physically concentrate on not moving.

 

“Joly! Give the man a drink before you dig around in his face, wont you!” Musichetta bustled in, her skirts damp from the rain, her hair out of its customary bun. 

 

“Thank God,” Courfeyrac breathed out a sigh of relief, “the thought that I would have had to have faced that sober was awful.”

 

“Not a problem, Courfeyrac, we’ve brandy or brandy or ah, brandy,” Musichetta held out a bottle, after taking the cap off it. 

 

“My thanks,” Courf said, taking the bottle in his still shaking hands, cradling it to his chest.

 

“Joly, love, please get out of those clothes, you’re dripping all over the place.” Musichetta patted Joly on the side of the face.

 

“Courfeyrac!” Combeferre stomped into the apartment, calling out for Courf with a grumpy look on his face, “what did you do this time?” 

 

“I tripped, Théo, there was a bit of pavement in my way,” Courfeyrac smiled when he saw Ferre’s shoulders slump.

 

“You tripped? You didn’t punch a fascist in the face again?” Ferre asked, coming forward to look closer at Courfeyrac’s face; Courf could definitely feel the blood dripping sluggishly from the cut, now that it was soaking through in to his neck tie. “Hmmm, shouldn't need stitches, and I doubt it’ll scar. It does need cleaning out, though.” Théo gently reached under Courf’s chin, tilting his head back to turn his cheek as far in to the light as he could. 

 

“Thank goodness,” Courfeyrac sighed, feeling weight fly off his shoulders.

 

“Were you walking home? In rain like this?” Ferre asked, feeling how wet Courfeyrac’s clothes were, his eyes widening as he ran his fingers lightly over the sleeves of Courf’s shirts, “Gabriel.”

 

“I didn't have enough money for a cab, ‘sides, there weren’t any,” Courfeyrac muttered, looking down at the cracked tiled floor. 

 

“You’ll catch the flu, then where will you be?” Ferre said, “we’ll see if Joly has any spare clothes.” 

 

“I’m not gonna catch the flu,” Courf mumbled obstinately, his bottom lip sticking out. “Don’t need to borrow clothes, mine are fine.”

 

“Gabriel Éttienne de Courfeyrac, if you do not listen to me right now, I will walk out the door and let Joly leech you.” Combeferre said, stepping back and putting on his best stern doctor face. 

 

“Théo-“ Courfeyrac begged.

 

“No, listen, if we don’t get you dry, warm clothes, you will get sick. So we’ll see if Joly has spare, cause I only brought change enough for two cab journeys.” Combeferre stepped out of the kitchen and into the main hallway, where Courfeyrac could hear him and Joly talking in hushed voices. 

 

“I’m not going to get sick, I’m made of stronger stuff; it'd take more than being out in the rain to take me down!” He called out to the hallway. 

 

“There you are,” Joly said, coming in with a pair of trousers, clean shirt and waistcoat. “Just bring them back when you’re done with them.”

 

“When have I ever not brought something back?” Courfeyrac looked at Joly, slightly scandalised. Joly just raised his eyebrow and left the clothes on the table. Courf had to admit that it was nice to be dry and warm again, he was starting to shiver slightly, his teeth chattering together. He felt so very tired all of a sudden, like he couldn't keep his eyes open, he sat down with only one leg in the trousers and stared in to space. His eyes wouldn't focus and his eyelids were drooping ominously, he took a deep breath and tried to focus, but instead let out a huge yawn. 

 

“Come on Ga- oh, Gabriel, are you okay?” Combeferre was huffing grumpily before he walked into the room and saw Courfeyrac sitting in the chair; yawning. 

 

“‘M tired,” he whined through his yawn.

 

“Come on, get those trousers on man,” Ferre chuckled a little, bending down and buttoning up Courf’s shirt and tiring his cravat for him, as Courf pulled on the trousers and stood to button them, pulling on his shoes without bothering to lace them. “You’re going to bed as soon as we get you home.”

 

“I was going to have dinner with Pontmercy today,” Courf yawned, “I haven’t been home in about a week, Ferre.”

 

“Yes, well, you’re certainly not going to your apartment now. I need to be able to keep an eye out for you, I just want to make sure you don’t get sick.”

 

“Ferre, you worry too much,” Courf mumbled as he was lead out of the apartment, with a nod to Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta. Joly threw his coat at him 

 

It was still cold and raining when they got into the street, Combeferre insisted that he would get them a cab whilst Courf waited under the stoop. Sure enough, not five minutes after, Combeferre was directing a cab and driver up to the front door of Joly’s apartment block. The door swung open, Ferre leant out to help Courfeyrac in to the warmth of the cab, Courf leant his head against Ferre’s shoulder; soaking in his warmth. The rain lashed against the windows of the cab, it dripped in through a small gap in the ceiling and soaked into the back of Courf’s neck, getting his dry shirt wet. He had no energy to move though, so he let the freezing droplets make themselves at home. The cab bumbled its way through the soaking streets of Paris, the horse’s hooves sloshed through the deep rivulets that had formed along the streets. He felt the lurching rhythm lulling him in to a doze, the clip clop and the rumble of wheels drawing the black impenetrable curtains of sleep around him. 

 

***

 

 

When he woke, it was to pain and cold. His whole body ached like he’d gone two ways with an angry bull; he was shivering though there were several blankets on him and a fire burning cheerfully in the grate. The sun streamed through the windows, and the clock on the mantle read ten past nine in the morning, he supposed he was missing his lectures today. He tried to speak, but it felt like someone had rammed sandpaper down his throat, it burned when he swallowed and the only thing he could do was let out a pained moan. The worst thing was, he could not breath, his nose was all bunged up and breathing through his mouth hurt his throat. He was so cold, like Jack Frost himself was sitting on his chest, he could not stop shaking, so much that the bed he was in rattled against the wall.

 

“Théodore said you’d wake up ill,” said a voice from the door, “here, he told me to make you drink this, it’s honey and lemon in warm water for your throat.” A gold head came in to view and Enjolras put the drink on the bedside table and fixed his blankets. “Really Gabriel, going out in the rain without a hat or an umbrella, what were you thinking?”

 

“Couldn’t-“ he coughed, the force of it wracking his entire body, he held out his hand grasping for a tissue, Enjolras obliged and thrust his handkerchief into Courf’s hand, “couldn’t find my hat, didn't want to leave you two without your umbrellas.” He said in-between coughs. 

 

“You are a fool Courfeyrac,” Enjolras shook his head fondly at him, even as he tucked another blanket around Courfeyrac’s shivering body. “Rest. Combeferre made some chicken broth for you later, and-“

 

“Let me-“ he broke off as coughs shook through him, he could feel his throat burning even more, “shit. Let me guess, I’m not to leave this bed.”

 

“Exactly. I don’t have lectures today, so I’ve been charged with looking after you.” Enjolras smiled a little, before sitting in a chair by his bed, and pulling out one of his law books. 

 

He could feel sleep pulling him down again, helped along by the noise of Enjolras turning a page every now and then, as well as the small noises he made when he read something he didn't agree with. The birds outside the window tweeted and chittered from their perches in the tree outside. Though he was being wracked with chills and shakes, and his body had decided to hurt him in every way possible, he fell asleep fairly easily. He tumbled into the black abyss, feeling the warmth of the blanket of sleep seep into his bones. 

 

Enjolras watched as Courfeyrac fell into an easy sleep, he looked his friend up and down. Courf was paler than Enjolras had ever seen him, his cheeks were flushed with fever and his hair stuck to his head with sweat. He lay on the bed gasping and rasping for breath, his eyelids fluttering and his chest heaving, his hands gripped at the sheets as his legs tensed and flexed. He coughed even in his sleep, as the hours ticked past and Enjolras watched still, he became increasingly more and more worried. Courfeyrac did not seem to rest easy, he tossed and turned about in the bed, and as the hours drew on towards the evening, his breath grew even more shallow. He was seriously considering running to Grantaire’s apartment (it was the closest to his and Ferre’s) and asking him to watch Courf whilst Enjolras went to the doctor’s surgery to get Ferre. He walked into the kitchen to get a wet strip of cloth to put on Courf’s brow, his hands shook as he wetted the cloth, he hated the thought of Courf being sick. He has no idea what do to, there is nothing he can do, not really, nothing that would help. He doesn’t really know what’s wrong with Courfeyrac, he knows that it is worse than the colds they all get during winter; but he doesn’t know _how_ sick his friend is. For all he could guess, Courfeyrac might not see out the week; that thought terrified him, and sent his brain in to a tumbling mess of terror. He thought about his life with Courfeyrac not being there, that is the worst image he makes up in his head. He hated the thought of not seeing his friend’s happy smile and hearing his jokes and teasing. Enjolras was just walking back into the room when he heard the front door slam. 

 

“Julien?” Combeferre walked down the hallway, dropping his bag by the entrance to their small living room.

 

“Yes,” Enjolras looked up from where he stood, hands propped either side of the sink bracing himself against it. 

 

“How is he?” Combeferre prompted, looking at Enjolras with searching eyes, stepping closer to him and laying a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I- I don’t know,” Enjolras stuttered, looking down and waving his hand a bit, “you’re the medic, I was just getting him a cloth.”

 

“Good. That’s good. Did he eat the broth?” Combeferre’s face was a mask, as though he was squashing the pain and fear he felt.

 

“No, he’s slept through most of the day,” Enjolras shook his head, his shoulders were slumped, “he’s worse, ‘Ferre, he’s not better. He’s so much worse.”

 

“Yes, most patients experience a worsening of symptoms before they get better, that’s quite normal.” Combeferre pushed his glasses further on top his nose before he took the cloth from Enjolras’s hands and, grabbing his bag from the floor, went into Courfeyrac’s room. 

 

Enjolras stood where he had been when Combeferre had entered the apartment, he stood stock still staring in the direction Combeferre had gone in. His mouth was parted slightly in shock, he’d never seen Ferre so closed off, so blank. He had never been so clinical. Enjolras felt even more lost than he had done before, he felt like a little boy whose mother had him lost in a busy crowd; he stood staring and not really seeing anything. He could hear Combeferre’s low rumbling voice emanating from the other room, but it didn’t have the usual lilt and chime to it. Enjolras couldn't stand the apartment suddenly, he didn't want to be inside it, soaking in the atmosphere; he had to get out.He grabbed his coat and took off out the door, letting the front door slam on his way out. His shoes echoed on the cracked tiles as he slipped and fell down the last few stairs, he couldn't see them because tears were clouding his vision. He picked himself off the floor, his palms stinging from hitting the ground, and swiped a hand over his red face and walked out of the apartment building. 

 

The walk to Grantaire’s apartment was short, just a few blocks away, Enjolras had never been there alone before. He turned the collar of his coat up against the wind that was skittering across the pavement, blowing the leaves in to his face and hair. He picked up his pace, his shoes crunching the small stones that littered the cobbles. When he got to Grantaire’s apartment he really had no idea what to do, he didn't even know if Grantaire was at home. He decided on throwing rocks at Grantaire’s windows, standing halfway into the road. 

 

“Julien, why are you throwing rocks at my flat?” A voice said from behind him. 

 

“Oh, uh, I was-“ He gestured vaguely, “Courf is ill, very ill, and Combeferre, Ferre’s not… not himself. Ranae, I- I don’t know what to do. Yours is the closest apartment, I can’t do this alone, I can’t-“

 

“Okay, let’s go,” Grantaire said, hoisting his bag further on to his shoulder, looking like he was about to walk into a battle. 

 

“Just like that? You aren’t going to ask anymore questions? You’re just coming with me?” Enjolras stared as Grantaire started to walk down the road, Enjolras jogged to catch up to him.

 

“You wouldn't have come for me if it wasn't serious, Julien,” Grantaire shrugged and kept walking, kicking a stone along the pavement as he went. 

 

They heard voices as soon as they stepped through the door; Courfeyrac’s was weak and crackly, like he was speaking through several layers of cloth. He sounded so weak that Enjolras felt his heart break a little bit just then. It sounded as though each word he spoke took three times the effort that it normally did. Enjolras moved closer to the bedroom door to better hear what he was saying, Grantaire followed close behind, dropping his back on to the sagging sofa. 

 

“You can’t just switch off on me like this, Ferre, I need my Théo; not this emotionless doctor, I know he’s in there somewhere,” Courfeyrac, coughed a wet horrible sound, leaving a ragged moan in its wake. 

 

“Would you lie down, Courfeyrac, keep the cloth on your head, we need to bring your fever down,” Combeferre’s voice still sounded as though he was in the hospital, dealing with a stranger, even the way he said Courf’s name was wrong; Enjolras let out a distressed sigh. 

 

“Théo, please-“

 

“Just lie down and save your strength, I think we should bleed you tomorrow if the fever is no better, I may need Joly’s opinion first though,” Combeferre said, his voice cold and completely void of emotion,

 

“You see what I mean? It’s like that is not Gabriel lying in that bed, he treats him like has never met him in his life,” Enjolras turned and grabbed Grantaire’s arm, “if there is anyone who can snap him out of it, it is you, Ranae.” 

 

“Huh,” Grantaire scoffed, looking down at Enjolras’s hand gripping his arm, “I’m not so sure about that.”

 

“No, it is true, he respects you,” Enjolras nodded, blond curls bouncing in front of his eyes.

 

“I’ll see what I can do, Julien, but Théodore has always been a hard man to change,” Grantaire sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to keep himself sane. 

 

“Thank you, Ranae,” Enjolras seemed to relax a little more, his shoulders sagging less and his posture becoming less than despondent. “Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Ranae is here!” Enjolras called, walking into the room where Courfeyrac was lying flat on the bed, gasping for breath. 

 

“R?” Combeferre stopped pressing the cloth on to Courf’s forehead, and looked up at Enjolras, his brow furrowing. “Why is R here?”

 

“I thought he could help, we all need breaks every now and then; besides, R’s good at cheering people up,” Enjolras shrugged, looking helpless, “how is he?” 

 

“The symptoms have worsened; I believe he has pneumonia,” Combeferre said, scribbling something down in his notebook and pushing his glasses further on to the bridge of his nose. “There is not much I can really do, either he’ll be better in one to three weeks or he will die.” 

 

“How can you just say that,” Enjolras looked at Combeferre, his eyes wide, tears forming in them, “I thought I was cold, but Ferre-“ 

 

“I was just saying that, if the symptoms have not improved at all by tomorrow or the next day, I will call Joly over to bleed him.” Combeferre said, “I need some water, would you keep watch over him please, call me if he wakes or coughs up blood again.”

 

“Coughs blood, _again_?” Enjolras stared after Combeferre as he left the room, he stood there for a few seconds, listening to the slow ticking of the clock that was sitting on the mantle. Courfeyrac chose that moment to groan and shift slightly, making Enjolras jump and grab his hand. “Courf?”

 

“Julien?” Courfeyrac mumbled, his head lolling to the side so his eyes made contact with Enjolras’s, “did ‘Ferre say to you what he said to me?” Courfeyrac’s voice was fragile, so weak it was like a pane of glass. 

 

“What did he say to you, Courf?” Enjolras asked, pulling the chair closer to the bed and sitting down in it without letting go of Courfeyrac’s hand. 

 

“He said, I’d be either better or dead in three weeks. I don’t like him when he gets like this Enjy,” Courfeyrac coughed again, his hands covered his lips; they came away stained red. 

 

“Shit, Courf-“ Enjolras muttered, grabbing another cloth from the bedside table. 

 

“Just, just tell him I want the Théo I love back,” Courfeyrac sighed, his head falling back on to the pillow. 

 

“Oh Gabriel,” Enjolras leant his head on to Courfeyrac’s chest, listening to the crackle and pop of his lungs. 

 

Combeferre left the room, not bothering to shut the door after him, Ranae was sitting on one of the living room sofas. The sun was streaming in through the blinds that hadn't been open that morning; the windows were open and there was an apple and a glass of water sitting on the coffee table. R was eating a bit of baguette and sketching something, the book propped open on his knee; his pencil skating over the page. 

 

“Hullo, Ranae,” Combeferre said, sitting down beside him heavily. 

 

“Hi, Théodore,” R stopped sketching and closed the book, sticking the pencil in his hair.

 

“Julien didn't tell me he’d gone out,” Combeferre sighed, and he leaned forward on his elbows, his hands coming up to scrub through his hair. “I yelled out for my stethoscope and he didn't come; he wasn't in here when I walked out and looked around. I-“ Ferre let out a sob, it escaped him almost involuntarily flying out of his mouth like a bird free from its cage. 

 

“Ferre,” R began but it was no use, once the dam had broken, Combeferre sobbed freely, his face turned red and blotchy. Grantaire could do nothing but sit there and watch his friend fall apart; except, that wasn't like Grantaire. He shifted to grab Combeferre by the shoulders and shook him. “Listen to me, you’re going to go back in to that room and be a friend, or whatever you are to Courfeyrac. He doesn’t need the doctor right now, he needs _you.”_

 

“Yes, yes you’re right,” Combeferre sobbed, hiccuping and wiping his eyes, “I’ve been rather awful to him, haven’t I?”

“You looked at Enjolras and told him his best friend was probably going to die. Yes, you’ve been awful,” Grantaire said, raising an eyebrow. 

 

“I just don’t know what to do. Everything we’ve gotten ourselves into, I’ve been able to fix, everything. Now, though, now I’ve got nothing. I’ve no idea how to fix this, I don’t even know if I can fix it at all.” Combeferre said, punching one of the pillows before wiping over his eyes viciously. 

 

“If ever there was a time for cool-headed, calm Théodore Combeferre, now would be it. Because, goddamn Théo those boys need you. They need the Théo they love, and now would be the prime time to let him out,” Grantaire smiled, gesturing to the bedroom. 

 

The door remained open from when Combeferre had left it, they could see Enjolras bent over Courfeyrac, smoothing down his hair and whispering to him. Enjolras’s face was so much more pale than it usually was, his cheeks and eyes were normally so full of life, now though he was white; his hands shook as they carded through Courfeyrac’s curls. They could see the tears fall, slowly at first then they were pouring down Enjolras’s cheeks. They could not hear what he was whispering but they could see as one of Courfeyrac’s hands reached up and stroked across Enjolras’s cheek; they could hear his gentle hushing noises as he stroked away Enjolras’s tears. Enjolras shook his head and wiped his eyes, they could hear his softly whispered words telling Courf that he should be the one sobbing, and Enjolras should be comforting him. Courfeyrac laughed a little, though it turned into coughing and gasping. 

 

“I can’t do this,” Ferre choked out, tears still coming down his face. He felt like a church spire getting whipped around in a storm, two seconds from being blown away by fierce winds; he’d never felt so helpless, so alone in his life. There was nothing he could do, what he’d told Enjolras and Courfeyrac had been the truth, either in three or so weeks Courf would be better, or he’d be dead and there was nothing Combeferre could do to improve the outcome.

 

“Yes you can, you’ve done such a good job, Courf is strong. It’ll take more than this to bring him down, he’s got you and Enjy,” Ranae said, placing a warm hand on Combeferre shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You’ve kept him alive till now, keep keeping him alive, Ferre.” 

 

Enjolras listened to this conversation as Courfeyrac seemed to fall back asleep, though it seemed he was to be in and out of a light doze for the foreseeable future. He kept his hands running through Courfeyrac’s now lacklustre curls, he pressed the cold cloth against his head as he bent forward and pressed soft kisses where the cloth didn't cover. He looked at Courfeyrac with watery eyes, placing his hand against Courf’s chest just to feel his heart beating, a solid reminder that his friend was still alive. He looked up at the appearance of Combeferre in the doorway, his other friend looked more deflated than he ever had. Combeferre shook his head. 

 

“There’s nothing more I can do for him, Julien. I’ve tried everythingI know,” Ferre stood at the back of the chair; Enjolras stood. 

 

“I know. I know you have,” Enjolras smiled weakly, facing Combeferre, “I love him so much, ‘Ferre.”

 

Combeferre had to physically refrain from stepping backwards, he gripped the chair and looked at Enjolras with wide eyes. “You?”

 

“Love him,” Enjolras turned his eyes back to Courfeyrac, “yes, I think I do. I know you do too.”

 

“I- I-“ Combeferre looked at Enjolras again, turning back to the man in front of him. “How did you-“

 

“I’ve seen the way you look at him. Like you feel the same way I do.” Enjolras said it with such simplicity, like everything was black and white, his usual no-nonsense tone creeping through even when it came to matters of the heart. “I was imagining us together, the way Joly and Bossuet were when they first met, but then I thought that there was something missing. It was you. We were missing you. The dream was perfect, except for there being something missing. Me and Courf, we need you, you are the thing that completes us. What I’m trying to say, is I think I love you too.” Enjolras fiddled with his hands in a way that was quite unlike him, he looked down at the floor and shifted from foot to foot.

 

“I was wondering when you were going to tell us,” Courfeyrac said from the bed, he didn't try to sit up, and the words were so quiet that Enjolras could easily have missed them, but when they turned around they could see Courf smiling a little. “Now do I have to make you kiss or are you just going to do it?” 

 

Combeferre rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh, from surprise if anything else, but he turned to look back at Enjolras who had the most peculiar look on his face. Enjy’s cheeks were bright red and he stared at Combeferre, his lips slightly parted; his blond hair all but gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. He paused for a second, watching as Enjolras’s eyes flicked from his eyes to his lips, then he was moving. He gathered Enjolras into his arms, and pressed their lips together, wrapping his arms all the way around Julien closing all possible space around them. Enjolras’s hands went straight in to his hair, threading through the tightly curled strands. He could feel the slightly tug as Enjolras played with them. Combeferre focused on the pressure of their lips as he traced his tongue across Enjy’s bottom lip. Ferre felt Enjolras smile into the kiss as he deepened it, tilting his head for better access. His arms were still wrapped completely around Enjolras’s middle, but he moved them so he gripped Enjolras’s hips leaving thumb shaped bruises there. 

 

“Finally, I can’t wait till I’m better,” Courfeyrac smiled. 

 

“I think, my work here is done,” Grantaire grinned from the doorway as he nodded to Courfeyrac, “it’s okay I’ll let myself out.” A few seconds later they heard the front door slam. 

 

Combeferre pressed his forehead to Enjolras’s as he took in the sight before him. Enjolras’s lips were red and bruised from the pressure of the kiss. He was smiling though, his cheeks flushed red, like they normally were. His ears had turned a little red as well, Combeferre stroked a hand down Enjolras’s cheek, feeling the peach soft skin under his fingertips. Enjolras stood on his tiptoes to press a kiss to the tip of Combeferre’s nose, before he sat back down on the chair, and leant forward to place a gentle kiss to Courfeyrac’s cheek.

 

“Now, you _have_ to get better,” Enjolras’s eyes flickered over Courfeyrac’s face. “You are forbidden from dying.”

 

“Yes, forbid me to die, that’ll work,” Courf coughed, “is my Théo back?”

 

“Yes, yes he’s back,” Ferre moved to sit at Courf’s feet. 

 

“You must never do that again,” Courf whispered, his breath crackling as his ruined lungs tried to keep him alive. 

 

“I won’t. I swear. Sleep, my love, we will be here when you wake,” Ferre let his fingers dance over Courfeyrac’s leg, just to have a part of him to hold and touch. 

 

***

 

In the coming week, Courfeyrac struggled to stay awake more than an hour or so at a time, his symptoms doing exactly what Combeferre said they would do. He got worse before he started, slowly, but surely to improve. Two weeks after he had been struck down, he was able to walk from the bed to the living room, though he was swaddled in about four blankets whilst he sat on the sofa. His lips were no longer blue and he wasn't coughing up any more blood; Combeferre was fairly sure he would recover fully, and Courfeyrac could feel his spirits returning. His breath didn't crackle so much anymore and it didn't feel like he had an elephant sitting on his chest. He said as much to Enjolras, who was sitting by him, reading; Enjolras’s face lit up like a firework. His eyes grew bright and he pressed a kiss to Courf’s cheek. Courf smiled and leaned into the touch, until he leant a little too far and ended up with his head in Enjolras’s lap. He started to move when he felt a hand in his hair, keeping him in place. 

 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to move,” Enjolras chuckled letting his fingers thread through Courfeyrac’s hair, enjoying the silky smoothness of the curls, “you’re warm.”

 

“That’s cause I’ve about nine blankets on me,” Courf groaned, “why do I have to stay in them?”

 

“Because, Gabriel, you just had a bout of pneumonia and you scared me; so we must do what doctor ‘Ferre says and keep you warm,” Enjolras smiled down at him, looking at him below the pages of his law book.

 

“Fine, but wait till you get me out of them,” Courf waggled his eyebrows and watched as Enjolras blushed from the tips of his ears to below his cravat.

 

“A date I am most certainly looking forward to,” Enjolras coughed, and shifted a little awkwardly.

 

Keys rattled in the lock and the front door flew open, revealing a very tired Combeferre, he walked in and wasted no time throwing his shirt to the ground, grumbling as he walked to the bedroom, rummaging in the closet for a clean shirt. 

 

“Nice to see you too, love. Yes our day was wonderful, we went outside for ten minutes like you said, yes the sun was out. I had a great time with Joly whilst Enjolras was at his lectures, no he didn't bleed me, he didn't even bring his leeches.” Courfeyrac muttered, staring pointedly in Combeferre’s direction.

 

“If you are well enough to talk to me like that,” Combeferre faked a glare at Courf, “you are well enough to come here and give me a proper kiss.” 

 

Courfeyrac didn’t need to be told twice, without further ado he let the blankets fall off him as he practically ran in to Combeferre’s waiting arms. Their lips met, it was like coming home, like Courfeyrac had been there the whole time, like he had already been a part of Combeferre, that in that moment had finally joined the whole. Combeferre held him closer than he’d thought possible, his arms big and warm making him feel completely and utterly safe. Then Enjolras was there, his hands making their way down his back and on to his hips, as his mouth pressed kisses on Courfeyrac’s neck. 

 

The sun soon sank below the horizon, bleeding out its light on to the still waters of the Seine, Paris letting darkness flood her; becoming a maze of street lamps and darkened alleyways. The three boys noticed none of it, they let the change happen, let it slip past them in haze of colour and the last vestiges of light. They fell asleep in a tangle of limbs, worn out but in the best way possible. Courfeyrac snuggled into Combeferre’s steady warmth, burying his face into the other man’s chest; his hand was held tight in Enjolras’s right fist. They were in their own little cocoon of warm and safety, like nothing from the outside world could touch them, they were apart from reality. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first proper Les Mis story I hope I didn't bung the characters up too much but hey... kudos would be really nice and comments to let me know how i did would be nice too, plus its like 12:39am here and i literally just finished this so yeah... if there're garbled bits that's why.


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